Christmas in a Small Town with an Unusual Visitor
by Blinked310
Summary: The Doctor has parked the TARDIS inside a small town that takes to his presence rather oddly. ONE-SHOT


**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of its characters.**

**Author's Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! I'm still working on The Last Companion, slowly but surely, but I wanted to write something short for Christmas, so enjoy. =]**

.

While it was true that there was a city meeting taking place at this very moment to determine the nature of the action, if indeed there was to be any, taken against the occupant of the blue police box, Laurence Abney was not one to wait. He had instead decided to go and, if need be, shout the man out of town, or else do whatever was necessary to restore order just before Christmas arrived.

Not that Laurence was a bad man – he was very respectable, aged forty-five, and held a well-paying job as a shoemaker that garnered him much satisfaction from doing good work. The only problem he took with this man who had built a police box in his town overnight and had decided to live in it, hardly ever coming out, was the problem that others took with it. Why, this 'issue' was becoming a right-proper town affair, and he'd be darned if more people were thinking about it during the Christmas hols than they were thinking about family, spending time together, giving gladly, and whatnot.

_Why would anyone want to live in one of these little boxes, anyways? _Laurence wondered as he walked boldly up to the door of the police box and rapped upon it, loudly, three times. There was no response.

"Hello? I know you're in there, so come on out!" Laurence shouted, knocking another three or four times. "Come on, you're agitatin' the town and I'll have none of it! Now pack your bags and hightail out o' town, hear? Come on out of there-"

Suddenly the door flew open to reveal a tall, rather skinny man wearing pants, a waistcoat, and a bowtie, with a big flop of black hair.

"Oh. Hello," the man said, rather subdued. "Didn't hear you there – have you been knocking?" he asked. "The old girl doesn't like getting knocked on, wouldn't advise you keep doing it. Might find yourself in trouble for the . . . Knocking. Now, who are you exactly?"

"Gonna ask you the same question, sir, you're causing a right good hassle for this town here, and I'll not be sufferin' no fools two days before Christmas, so you'll have to leave," Laurence demanded firmly.

"Leave? I don't like leaving – there's quite a bit of it in the universe, so don't encourage it, or you'll get absolutely nowhere. No, of course you'll get places, but they won't exactly be home," the man replied gloomily, looking down as he scuffed his feet over the ground.

"What are you on about?" Laurence asked, although in a fashion considerably less accusatory than before. He could tell that this man, whoever he was, was hurting, and the Abneys were not people to turn away those in need, no sir!

The man raised his gaze to meet Laurence's eyes, staring for several seconds. "Nothing," he finally said, smiling and patting Laurence on the shoulder. "I'll clear out and let your town get back to its own particular town-ish activities, so goodbye. And Happy Christmas."

"Hold it just one minute!" Laurence demanded, stepping forward and catching the man by his shoulder as he turned to leave. "I know a man in pain when I see him, and now I'm gonna tell you somethin' and you're gonna listen, hear?"

The man smiled slightly, turning back towards Laurence. "You have my attention," he assured.

"Now I don't know what your problem is, and I don't know who you are or where you're from, but, judging from appearances an' all, I'd say I've lived a right time longer than you have, and I'm bound to have some more experience. I've got three kids, see, and every once in a while I've got to go out of town to get some more leather – I make shoes, and sometimes the good tradesmen take a while to come back in, anyways, when I leave, I miss my little'uns terribly. You, sir, if I had to guess, look like you've lost someone, and I know it's hard. But what I do, I make the best of what I've got, and soon I'm home again. Maybe you can't go home, I dunno, but you can always make a new one, and, if you're quite lucky, you might just find yourself someone who fits into it."

"Make myself a new home, eh?" the man questioned, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Any place is better than a cloud, I suppose . . . Thank you. I'm not all better, but you seem like a pleasant chap, and I can tell you mean well. Ah, nothing like . . . What year is it?" he asked.

"Nineteen-hundred, sir, of course," Laurence replied.

"Victorian," the man replied, a gleam brightening his eyes. "You know, I think I'm ready for a Wednesday!" he exclaimed, grabbing Laurence by the shoulders and spinning them in a wide circle, twice. "Don't worry about the box, I'll take care of it!" he shouted, dashing back inside and slamming the door shut.

Laurence chuckled at the oddity of the man, turning and heading back home, for he did believe that the box would be gone by morning, and was ready to spend Christmas with his family.

.

The next morning, on Christmas Eve, Laurence was woken by the loud rapping noise coming from his front door. Grumbling to himself, he got out of bed and made his way over, opening the door to reveal a man from the city council, George.

"Mornin', George," Laurence said.

"No time for pleasantries, I'm afraid," he replied. "You weren't at the meeting last night, but we decided to go down and talk to the man, maybe ask him to leave. Well, I went down this morning, but he's gone, so is the box, and I'm suspicious of foul play," George explained quickly, deadly serious.

"You what?" Laurence laughed. "You want him gone, and when he is, you think he was murdered or some such? Listen, George, I went down myself last night and talked to him, and he assured me that he'd clear out, so don't worry."

"I dunno, Laurence, settin' up and then clearin' out such a well-built police box like that so quickly? It's odd. I'm convinced there's something goin' on here!" George insisted.

"There's nothing going on, and I don't want this commotion to interrupt Christmas, hear?" Laurence demanded.

"I bet if I hurried, I could get the post office to make some missing man flyers," George realized. "I'm off – goodbye, Laurence!"

"No, wait!" Laurence cried, rushing after George. "It's not a big deal – he's not murdered or missin' or nothing!"

"It seems strange, I tell you," George replied. "I'd feel much better with the town on a lookout for anyone lost or wounded!"

Laurence sighed. It was going to be a long Christmas.


End file.
